


A Fate Worse Than

by ninhursag



Category: Criminal Minds, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Gen, Pre-Canon, Serial Killers, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam is kidnapped while John is on a hunt, Dean is desperate. If he can't save his brother, is there anything he can do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fate Worse Than

**Author's Note:**

> So, a while ago I asked for some h/c prompts. This one is for [](http://tanpopo03.livejournal.com/profile)[**tanpopo03**](http://tanpopo03.livejournal.com/). Unfortunately, my brain killed off most of the c during the writing process. Ugh. Sorry :(. A big thanks to [](http://cormallen.livejournal.com/profile)[**cormallen**](http://cormallen.livejournal.com/) for audiencing.

  
**Now**

When they pull Sam out of the basement on a gurney, the Fed is walking next to him, holding his hand and talking softly. He doesn't even blink when Dean comes barreling over, screaming Sam's name.

Sam's awake and breathing, so that means Dean can breathe too. Definitely awake, but his eyes are glazed. There are sluggish cuts dripping red across his cheeks and thick, black bruises under his eyes that could just be from sleeplessness. Sam's mouth is the worst, though. Red slicked and raw, like he'd spilled tomato juice all over his face.

Dean doesn't gag or scream, but it's a tough call. Sam, though, he just blinks at Dean and then at the Fed, gaze swinging from one to the other. "S'not mine," he whispers, in a soft, hoarse voice. He looks at Dean and makes a motion like he's going to smile. "I got him. Was it good? Did I do good? He won't hurt anyone else."

Dean can't answer him. All he can do is stand there trembling on the balls of his feet, like he's poised to run. All he can do is stare at his brother's body, his brother's living body.

The Fed doesn't wince, but Dean can see the way his hand tightens around Sam's. "Yeah, Sam," he says and for once Dean is relieved that there's someone else there to talk to Sam. That there's someone else here. "You did really good. You're safe now."

Sam looks at the man and blinks again. "W-who are you? How do you know my name?" he murmurs, confusion chasing exhaustion in his eyes.

The Fed smiles, a real smile, eyes crinkling up with it. "I'm with the FBI. We've been looking for you, Sam," he says. "Your brother told us a little about you to help us know where to look."

Sam frowns and his lashes flutter. He looks smaller with his eyes closed, young and thin and battered. "Oh," he whispers. "Well, you found me. Can I sleep now?"

Dean coughs, mans up and takes a step forward. "Sammy," he whispers, but Sam's breathing has already evened out. He's out. Dean swallows hard and looks at the Fed.

The man's eyes have gone stark, tired, but he meets Dean's head on. "You were right," he says and he shakes his head. "Your brother's tough. He made it. He's going to make it."

Dean nods. "I believe you," he says, and he does not matter what his Dad and everyone else ever said about Feds. This is the guy that did what Dean couldn't, after all. He got Sam, he got him back alive. "What happened?" Dean asks as they load Sam up into the ambulance.

The Fed's mouth twists. He looks like he's going to blow Dean off, going to tell him this is too harsh for a teenage kid. Going to do or say something patronizing that will make Dean punch his face in. Instead he looks at Dean steadily and sighs. "Your brother was cuffed and chained to a radiator. When the man holding him got close enough, it looks like your brother... bit his tongue off. His... assailant bled out."

"Bit his tongue off?" Dean repeats blankly. His gaze flickers down to Sam's blood soaked face. "Oh. That-- oh." He's not sure if he feels the horror or the vague pride more strongly.

The Fed shakes his head. "Sam saved his own life, Dean. The other boys... he kept them alive maybe twenty-four hours. Sam's been missing forty-eight." Dean hadn't known that. Hadn't wanted to know that and is sickeningly grateful no one told him.

Now he just swallows and tries not to think about the fact that it also meant that Sam was in a basement for twenty-four hours soaking in the blood of someone who had... who had hurt him. Sam bit his tongue off and spent a day with his corpse. There's no way Dean can stop thinking about that.

It's almost better than thinking about what happened in the twenty-four hours before the fucker was a corpse.

//

**Two days earlier**

  
The Fed has calm eyes, Dean remembers thinking that later, remembers thinking that every time. Calm eyes and careful hands. He doesn't touch Dean when he looks him straight on and says, "If your brother is alive, we'll find him, Dean. Believe it."

Dean, who is seventeen, wrapped in leather and a monster killer since he was Sam's age, Dean who hasn't trusted anyone but his dad in so long he can't remember what it felt like, Dean looks at him right back and doesn't flinch. "Sure," he mutters. "Whatever."

The Feds have been involved since this morning, since two hours after the school had noticed Sam was missing. Dean hadn't known it then, that Sam wasn't the first kid to go missing. The cops knew it right away, and they were there first, big hands curled into fists, loud voices right up in Dean's face.

"Where'd you see your brother last?" they asked. Coffee breath, harsh. "Did you have a fight with him? The neighbors heard you yelling. You had a fight, didn't you? His teacher said he was bruised up pretty bad, Dean. Where's you dad, Dean?"

It made Dean want to scream and scream, beat his fists against the wall, against them. "My brother's gone," he said. "And you're asking me? Why don't you go issue some speeding tickets instead if you can't fucking find him?"

The Fed was different. The Fed being there was what made sure Dean knew beyond a shadow of any doubt that this was serious, as serious as monsters. Worse.

The Fed had calm eyes. He was almost slight, hair just beginning to thin even though he wasn't that old. He walked into the interrogation room and the cop of the moment rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. "Why don't you see if you can sweet talk Mr. Eff Bee Eye, then, Winchester," he hissed and stalked out of the room.

The Fed just shook his head and smiled. He looked Dean right in the eye. "I'm Special Agent Gideon," he said quietly and offered Dean his hand. "With the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I'm going to ask you a few questions that are going to help me find your brother."

"The cops think I did something to him," Dean scoffed, looking away, staring down at the bare scarred table between them. "Why the hell would they call in the Feds?" It doesn't make sense. Nothing has made sense since this morning when Sam didn't get where he was supposed to, when Sam dropped off the face of the planet.

The Fed sighed. "The police are hoping you did something to your brother, Dean. They're hoping it's a practical joke cooked up by two kids. If it isn't..."

Dean's chin jerked up. The Fed was still looking him right in the eyes. Quiet, like a doctor on TV telling you you had cancer style quiet. Dean flinched. "He wouldn't pull a joke like this," he said softly. "Not on me. Why are the Feds here? Tell me what you're here for."

The Fed nodded. "In the last four weeks, four boys Sam's age have gone missing after being reported truant at school." His tone is quiet, gentle. His eyes look old. "This morning they found the body of the first one to disappear by the river. That's why they called in the BAU. My unit helps track serial offenders, Dean."

Dean didn't remember much about what happened next. Just that at the end of it, his throat was hoarse from screaming and the Fed was looking at him with those stupid, stupid, sympathetic eyes, telling him that if Sam's still alive they're going to find him.

If. If. If.

  
\  
**Now**

They let Dean ride in the ambulance, kneeling next to Sam and holding his hand. No one asks where his Dad is, though in the back of his mind he knows the questions are coming, they have to be.

Right now he gets to watch Sam breath and watch him back. "I'm okay," Sam tells him between blinks, earnest as if he wasn't covered with blood and bruises, as if his eyes weren't all wonky fucked up like he's got a lump on his head or he's out of his mind on drugs or both. "I'm okay."

"What happened, Sammy?" Dean whispers, though he wants to say, yeah, yeah. Yes. Of course you're going to be okay, nothing else is acceptable. "What happened?"

Sam just shakes his head until one of the paramedics tells him to stop. "I'm okay, Dean. I took care of it," he repeats. "I got him." There's dried blood on his face and it cracks and peels when he talks.

One of the EMTs looks up at Dean over Sam's stretched out body. "He's shocky, kid," he says. "Don't worry too much about what he's saying."

Don't worry? Dean almost has to laugh. "Why the hell would I worry?" he mumbles. "My brother's only bleeding in front of me."

"I'm okay. Dean. I'm okay," Sam repeats over and over and over until his eyes fluttered closed. Dean doesn't realize he's crying until he tastes the salt and wet.

\\\

**This morning.**

Trust Sam to find trouble in the stupidest of places. On the way to school? Who does that? Kid loved school.

"Some fucking serial killer isn't going to get the better of Sam," Dean said, reckless and wild. The Fed just gave him a look. "They're only human, right?" Except maybe they're not. Dean could believe that, could believe that there's a monster in a guy like Ted Bundy or whatever. In a guy that... did things to little kids, the kind that brought out the fucking Feds in force.

"He's thirteen years old." The Fed said, nicely, like he was trying to prepare Dean for the inevitable. Dean looked away. He didn't say, you don't know. You don't know Sam, don't know me. There was something about the Fed's face that told Dean to just shut up and not say too much.

"What happened to the other kid... I mean, the one you found?" Dean asked instead. It felt like the words spilled out over a lump in his stomach, tight and bitter. He didn't actually want to know. "Did... what happened?"

The Fed shook his head. "You don't need to think about that," he said. "Just think about your brother."

Dean shoved up to his feet. "What happened?" he demanded, louder, spitting out the words. "What happened? Don't tell me what I want to think about."

The Fed sighed and looked down at a folder in front of him. "He died. Nothing's worse than death, Dean. Once the soul is gone... nothing's worse. That's all you need to know."

Nothing's worse than death. That's a laugh, Dean already knew that a lot of worse only comes after your body got cool.

\

**Now.**

At the hospital they keep asking about Dad and Dean keeps shaking his head. Sam's on a table in front of him and there's a nurse there, a small woman in blue scrubs. She touches Sam with careful hands and Dean can only watch while Sam drifts in and out of consciousness. The more awake he is, the more he tries to flinch away.

"I tried calling him," Dean tells the doctor, even though he can't look at her much since that means taking his eyes off Sam. "But he's not at his hotel room. I left a message."

The doctor sighs and scrubs her hands over her face. "Look... you need to. We need to do certain exams. We need a parent to--"

"I'm over eighteen," Dean lies immediately. He's got the fake Id's to back it up. "My dad signed a temporary guardianship for me. Just while he's gone."

The doctor lets out a slow breath and closes her eyes. Dean can see her wanting to question it and just being too tired to push hard. He can see the second she gives in and shakes her head yes.

"We need to do a rape kit," she says softly. "And an HIV test on the assailant's blood. The results won't be completely conclusive and I'm going to recommend a course of prophylactics in any event, but--"

Dean doesn't know how he manages to tune her out, but he does. He stares at Sam, all twitchy, sprawled out limbs, half conscious on a table. He wants to scream and and scream and never stop.

\

**This morning.**

The Fed was the one who figured out where Sam was being kept. Dean would like to think he helped, but he knew that wasn't really true. He would never have been able to pull together the patterns of disappearing kids and trace them back to the school truant officer. Sam could have done it, if he were here instead of the one who was... gone. Dad could have done it easy. Just not Dean, who never had the head for patterns.

If Dean had been on his own for this one, Sam would have died in the basement of the house next door. That's how close he was. Next fucking door. If it had been Dean the fucker took, Sam would have figured it out before he even got hurt, Dean was sure of it.

Dean wouldn't even have known when the cops found Sam if he hadn't been right there at home, trying to pour over Sam's stuff with a hoodoo location spell he couldn't get to work right. If he hadn't heard the cops pouring out of their black van and seen the Fed out in front in a bullet proof vest with that same calm expression on his face.

He ran pounding out the door, seeing red, panicked, but the cops caught him behind their line. There were a lot of them, thick bodied and everywhere, enough to press him down, keep him from shoving through into that small, dark house.

Later, after the Fed brought Sam up in the gurney, took him out of the dark, Dean asked outright if he could go and in see where his brother had been kept.

The Fed just sighed at him and shook his head. "I can't stop you, Dean," he said and he sounded old, really old. "But believe me, there's nothing there you should see. Nothing there will help your brother." Dean didn't yell, didn't tell him about all the horrors he had seen, the ones that hadn't been too much, the ones no one had asked if he _should_ see. He didn't even point out that Sam had seen the inside of that house whether he should have or not.

\  
**Now**

"Sam has a talent for compartmentalizing I usually see in soldiers and veteran police officers," the Fed tells Dean after the interview.

Dean snorts into his hand. He doesn't yell, because this is the guy who found Sam when he couldn't, helped Sam when he couldn't. "I don't know what that means," he says instead.

"No?" He doesn't know if the Fed believes him or not, but he doesn't call him on it. "It means I'm going to give you the names of a few psychiatrists that specialize in trauma, but I'm not sure how much good they'll do at this stage," the Fed says. He has a rueful half smile on his face and he flicks his gaze over Dean, from his worn out boots to his slicked back hair. "They work on a sliding scale, of course. And they'll be available when Sam's ready."

"Sure," Dean mutters and stares at his feet. "Great. When he's ready. When will that be?"

The Fed doesn't answer him, just raises an eyebrow. "Have you had any luck getting in touch with your dad, Dean?" he asks instead. Dean manages not to wince, but he can tell the Fed knows it was a close thing.

"He'll be here," Dean grits out.

"Social services could be here faster," the Fed says. Dean knows he does flinch. Flinch a little, but it's going to be obvious to this guy-- that and how he looks away. He can't help it.

"Yeah," Dean mutters and stares at the wall behind the Fed's head. "I'm going to go spend some time with my brother."

Sam is still white face and miserable, dirty in his hospital bed, when Dean comes to break him out. He blinks, the drug daze in his eyes already starting to fade into pain-- the doctor's are going way too easy on the painkillers to Dean's way of thinking.

Dean slides in next to him and hates himself a little when he squeezes Sam's hand and Sam doesn't jerk away with a visible effort. "We gotta bust out of here, Sammy," Dean whispers. "Lots of cops milling around asking dumb questions. And DSS has got to be on the way."

Sam shivers blearily and blinks water off his eyelashes. "What about Dad?" he mumbles. He doesn't look surprised when Dean shakes his head. He just nods and Dean isn't sure whether to be grateful or not that Sam isn't even disappointed in Dad anymore. Sam just shifts in his bed and makes a motion like he's nodding. "Okay. It's okay. I'm okay." If he keeps saying that Dean's going to kill him. Or himself. One of those.

Dean forces a smile. "Sure you are, champ. And don't worry about Dad, he'll figure out where we've gone when he gets back. Let's blow this joint and I'll get you some ice cream."

"Okay," Sam whispers. He's ghost white when Dean eases him out of bed and Dean really is grateful there isn't an IV to deal with. Sam's skin is clammy and his feet don't seem to want to stay under him, which is bad enough.

Dean ends up half carrying him, ducking through hallways and trying to look like he's supposed to be doing whatever he's doing. No one stops them, but Dean figures they were finally due some good luck anyway.

Sam doesn't say a word, just pants for breath, his fingers tight and grasping in Dean's T-Shirt, digging into Dean's side hard enough to bruise and mark. Sam keeps his eyes straight ahead until they're outside under the sky and Dean is buckling him into the passenger side of the Impala.

Then he looks at Dean and blinks, sleepy and soft. Like he's still innocent and untouched under the bruises. His voice is slow, slurred and earnest like he's drunk. "I had to kill him, Dean. He told me... he said you were next. That he'd seen you next door and he was going to... to use me. To get to you. I had to stop him."

Dean shivers. For a second he doesn't even have words. He forces himself to meet Sam's eyes, to scramble for something. "I know, Sammy," he says, clear and loud. "You did great, okay? You... you're okay."

Sam actually smiles at him. Bright and glazed. "I did okay," he repeats. "I knew you'd think so." Then he closes his eyes, cheek pressed against the window glass when Dean closes the door.

\

  
**Later**

Dean takes Sam into the mountains for a while, just for the time they're waiting for Dad to get back from wherever. There's a tiny ski town with a loaner cabin. A book store that has things Sam likes, for whenever Sam isn't too fucked up on pain meds to read.

He tries not to expect anything from Sam. He's not going to read lame self help books and the one time he suggests that a shrink really might Sam just stares at him like he's the one who's crazy and doesn't say a word.

Sam talks plenty when he's dreaming, though. Screams plenty, dragging Dean into wakefulness from his position curled up next to Sam. "Don't," he begs. "I won't let you, I won't, I won't, I won't," Sam howls at his invisible tormentor, the one Dean didn't save him from.

Dean wakes him up and Sam pants for breath and jerks away. Stares at him like he's an alien. "I'm okay," he says. "I'm fine, Dean." Dean can't push it, not when Sam's like that, quaking so hard that Dean can feel the bed shake.

He tries during the day and it's like a brick wall. "We can talk about it, you know," he finally says, hands thrown up in frustration. "If you want to. What happened."

Sam just rolls his eyes. "I'm really bored, Dean. I guess I can beat you at chess again," he says instead of paying attention. "Except it would be too easy, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, that's the only thing you can beat me at, so keep milking it," Dean says right back and lets Sam distract him.

But the next night, after the next nightmare Sam stares up at him from under the heavy weight of his bangs. "He was heavy," he says. His cheeks are wet in the moonlight. Sweat, tears or both. There's a quirk in his mouth, like he's using the words to hit out at Dean instead of anything else. "After. I didn't expect that. He was... on me when I-- when I took care of him and I expected him to fall off. But he didn't and my hands were... I couldn't move, really. I couldn't push him off."

"I'm sorry," Dean whispers, because he doesn't know what else to say. He can picture it easy, too easily.

Sam shrugs. "Does it help you to know that?" he asks.

Dean swallows hard and looks away. "You should call one of those shrinks that Fed said you should to talk to," he says instead of answering. "Seriously. You're the one who needs someone to... to help."

Sam just sighs and shakes his head. "Thought so," he mutters and pulls the blankets over his head.

Dean rolls over and pretends to fall asleep. He would never have done it if he'd known it would be the last time Sam talks about it in so many words, but he couldn't know that so he just spends the night awake, on guard, listening to his baby brother breathe..


End file.
